


Catching Keeler and the Cost Associated

by BalianofTheirry



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Gabriel is a Little Shit, James is Encke, M/M, Mild Language, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Real Names I made up..., They fight... A lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalianofTheirry/pseuds/BalianofTheirry
Summary: "Task name Michael. Meet your Gabriel." James tried hard not to sneer at the name. Angels. They should know better. Regardless of his displeasure, he turned from Bering to his approaching navigator- he was no angel...It was going to be a long deployment. Before Encke, he was Michael, and Keeler was a delicacy in which he could not indulge.





	1. The Fall of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this a little under a year ago and had the inspiration to revive it. I'd like to update it if not complete it. I don't know... After Hamlet's disappearance, the fandom died a little. We'll see how this goes. Rating is subject to change... Enjoy Kiddies!

"Task name Michael. Meet your Gabriel." James tried hard not to sneer at the name. Angels. They should know better. Regardless of his displeasure, he turned from Bering to his approaching navigator- he was no angel. Three piercings adorned his face: two in the right ear and one on his bottom lip. His hair was an unruly mess with nearly an inch of dark roots at the base, damaged and worn from the dye and bleach; not always having worn the customary blonde locks. A bored expression sat behind dark lashes and a creased brow, as Gabriel crossed his arms over his narrow frame and gave James- now Michael, a rather scrutinizing once over.

Command had a shit sense of humor, pairing them together.

Having been raised under the rule book of the Alliance, Michael was regulation perfect from head to toe. Clean shaven, dressed sharply and spotlessly. He had expected nothing less from his navigator. This. This was a rather unwelcome surprise.

"Gabriel," Hayden's voice rang loud and clear, snapping Michael to attention- spine straight and chin high, eyes locked to the commanding officers, just as he had been trained. The slumped and uninterested posture his navigator kept was nothing short of a bewilderment to him. "You are dismissed. Please show Michael to your barracks."

Without so much as a 'Yes Sir' or any acknowledgement that his superior was addressing him, Gabriel turned on his heel and strutted out the door of the briefing room, leaving a very shocked and rather displeased fighter behind. Michael had been under the impression that the rules implemented during basic; the ones that had been furthermore drilled into himself and his comrades through discipline and long hours; would be extended to the navigators. Rules such as keeping up appearances and respecting your superiors- the failure of which would result in extra laps, time in the brig, and with appropriate severity- immediate discharge.

It seemed as though he was wrong.

Not that it was much of a surprise. After all, the Navigators were the prized possession of the enterprise. They could do as they pleased, as it was no secret that the Alliance needed them; relied on their brilliant minds and nimble dexterity. The fighters- they were disposable. Cannon fodder. Brutish and moronic oafs, with the sole purpose of pushing the buttons that the Navigators couldn't reach.

With gritted teeth and a muttered- but polite "Sirs", he gave a curt nod and followed after his navi. His Gabriel. Something he had looked forward to, until that moment.

From behind, Gabriel looked even more disheveled. His civilian attire was unkempt; untucked and wrinkled. He walked as if he had no purpose- slow and tremendously loud. His footsteps echoed in the corridor, loud enough to make Michael cringe. It was a sure sign that Gabriel had never had to lie, nor cheat, nor steal his way out of anything. The world had been handed to him on a silver platter, and he wasn't ashamed of his presence in the least.

In that moment, Michael silently hoped that they would never come to an emergency in which a 'shelter in place' was issued. They would sure as hell be found fast- if not first.

They came to an elevator bank where the 'call' button was mercilessly jammed beneath Gabriel's thumb. Michael risked a glance at his hand- smooth pale skin, without a scar or scab to rough up his delicate features. Well-manicured, but otherwise untouched. They shamed Michael's hands. Calloused and scarred; blistered and worn, like a true fighter's. He had no delicate disposition. Gabriel had something to hide.

Catching his stare, Gabriel forced his fist back into the pocket of his jacket, gritting his teeth with a pointed glare. Yes, something to hide- but nothing to prove. He was just like the rest of them. A weak boy, stolen behind a wild personality and a brilliant mind.

'Don't let them see your weakness.' At least that rule was extended to the navigators.

The elevator came with a soft purring sound, landing almost silently before them and sliding open its thick doors.

They rode in absolute silence, neither sparing a glance at the other. Michael held his breath as he watched the counter overhead. Deck 3. Deck 4. 5. 6. 7. Deck 8 and the doors whirred back open. The corridor looked remotely the same as the one below if only a bit dimmer. Everything was starch white and reeked of high grade chemicals amongst sweat and other bodily fluids Michael would rather not dwell on.

Just as loudly as before, Gabriel started his obtrusive march down the hallway, forcing his new partner to hold back an exasperated groan.

After following his navigator for what seemed like ages, Michael came to an abrupt halt, crossing his heavy arms over his broad chest. They had passed the same elevator bank three times now. As if he hadn't noticed a thing, Gabriel kept walking until Michael spoke out- low, gruff, and full of spite.

"Quit walking in circles. I'm not blind."

A small smirk over the shoulder and Michael about lost it. He was already, in the first few minutes they had been assigned, trying to get on Michael's shit-list. He knew exactly what his smug look, rumpled appearance, and 'I own this place' act was doing to his new fighter. Gabriel was practically asking for it. A swift lesson in discipline and respect would do him good-

"Easy there, tough guy. I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Michael unclenched his jaw, relaxing his sneer and backing off from where, in a blind rage, he hadn't noticed he'd cornered his navigator. The one who was speaking to him for the first time. His voice was melodic, like a navi's. But, it held the same stupid smirk that his comrades often gave him back in basic. Michael thought twice about knocking in his front teeth before he dropped his hands completely from the seemingly disinterested boy. He cleared his voice and lowered his eyes to the floor.

"I... I don't know what came over me," he tried through a tightly set jaw. He was never keen on apologizing. Gabriel brushed some imaginary dirt from himself before meeting his gaze.

"Anger, stupidity, lust... I wouldn't expect any less from a fighter," he hummed as he turned to the door he'd just been pinned against and swiftly typed in a code. "Good choice by the way. I wouldn't have pegged you as perceptive enough to find our room by yourself." The doors slid open, and he paraded inside with a mocking grin. "You must be full of surprises!"

Oh. Fuck. No. A direct blow to his intelligence would not be tolerated.

Fuming, Michael shoved into the room behind him, his face heated with outrage. He had just barely heard the doors whisper closed behind him as he gathered a fistful of Gabriel's shirt and backed him into the closest wall. He bit back venom as he narrowed his fury. "Listen here you little-!"

"No, tough guy- you listen!" Digging his perfect little nails into Michael's wrists, Gabriel leaned in with equal fire in his vibrant eyes. "I don't care who you are or where you come from- I am NOT your bitch! I don't need your help and I sure as hell don't want it! You stay the fuck away from me and I'll keep your ass alive in the field. Sound like a plan?"

Possession. This was about possession. Gabriel had conjured up some image of fighters, and apparently Michael fit the bill. Anger, stupidity, lust... Michael gave a hard sneer, but after a moment, backed off. Contrary to the apparent popular belief- he wasn't an idiot. He knew that despite the lack of physical damage they could induce, navigators could quickly have anyone discharged with a quick alteration to their file. Silent, but deadly. Michael wasn't foolish enough to throw away years of training for a petty fight. Gabriel simply wasn't worth it.

He was about to retort with some threat or another, when a soft knock resonated on the door. A frail voice followed.

"Gabriel...? Are you alright? I heard yelling and-"

"Fine, Elijah. I'm fine," was Gabriel's immediate reply, as he shoved himself off of the wall and out of Michael's grasp. He gathered himself and keyed open the door where a short, slim blonde was wringing his hands with a look of apprehension in his wide blue eyes.

Michael watched as Gabriel motioned for the boy- deemed Elijah, to start down the hall, where he would soon follow. But, before he took a step, Gabriel turned and leveled Michael with his icy stare.

"Oh- and keep your hands to yourself. You aren't all that, Michael," he drawled with unmistakable disgust. With that, he turned and strode away, leaving Michael to seethe in silence.

It was going to be a long deployment.


	2. Picking Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week later, things for Michael have just gotten a whole hell of a lot worse. And he gets to meet Keeler, but it doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Part Two... I have no excuses.

Michael discovered quickly that if he had any intention of surviving this deployment, he would have to develop a thick skin for Gabriel’s antics. From one day to the next Gabriel was constantly making life harder for his fighter. Not to his face- no. They hadn’t spoken a word to one another since the day they met. But, his presence irked Michael to absolutely no end.

It was the little things, such as leaving his bed unmade or leaving his discarded articles of clothing strewn about their shared barracks. It was clear that he had no intention of upholding appearances as he practiced no table manners while in the mess hall. He spent a majority of his time gossiping amongst his friends; if you could call them that. The navigators that hung closely to Gabriel looked to him with mixed looks of sheer terror and admiration. It was no secret that he was the leader of their little clique.

And that was hardly all of it. He dismissed Michael in public on more than one occasion- immediately diminishing any chance he had at camaraderie with the navigators-, bullshitted his way through their compatibility testing, constantly picked fights with some of the other domineering navigators, and stayed up through the night pleasuring himself; quite loudly, at Michael’s expense.

Yet, Michael was no closer to being discharged, then on the first day. And for that he was grateful, albeit suspicious. It was clear to any onlooker that neither of them cared much for the other. Maybe, Michael had theorized, he was waiting to out him on duty. Sure they had managed to get through compatibility screening just fine, but field training was coming up and they couldn’t fake their way through a lack of communication. Fighters were disposable. It was likely that if command found the pair to be unsuccessful and uncooperative, Michael would take the brunt of the failure. He’d be demoted from the active task force and likely be kept on board as a recruiter, trainer, or worse janitor. The thought, among _other_ tasteless things, kept him up at night.

Now, sitting at the far end of a table in the mess hall, Michael felt as though he had already been outcast. With all that Gabriel talked about him, it was no surprise that he was missing out on the companionship of the fleet.

The navigators that welcomed Gabriel’s tales thought Michael brutish and oafish. Unintelligent, inarticulate, and driven by lust alone. At least that is what he gathered from hurried whispers as he passed by on the Bridge or in the halls.

The fighters- they hardly believed those stories, which was a relief, in and of itself. Many of them had completed basic alongside him, and knew him to be studious and driven. No, much worse than that, it seemed he was being pegged as an enabler. Too soft on his navigator or unable to reign in his actions, and so the navigator took control and ran amuck. Perhaps the hardest part for Michael to admit was that the fighters, at least, were right. He had no control over Gabriel and so he was labelled weak, and he was steadily losing his hard earned respect.

And so he sat alone. Not exactly alone, there wasn’t enough room in the mess hall for anyone to be alone per say, but excluded from neighboring conversations.

Shifting the soft styrofoam bowl clutched in his hands from side to side, pushing the tasteless and colorless broth around aimlessly with his spoon, Michael gave a barely audible huff.  He was embarrassed to say the least. He was a commander’s son after all and it was damn well time to start acting like one.

His eyes flickered across the room to where Gabriel sat talking animatedly to Elijah and the rest of his blind harem. Flight simulation was the first thing that crossed his troubled mind. How in the hell would he get through flight simulation with his partner either at his throat or world away? They would have to start speaking for one. Michael could only imagine what a conflict in battle strategy would entail. He was suddenly glad that he hadn’t anticipated returning home in the first place. Colteron space would be dangerous, but it was outright deadly with an unpredictable partner.

“Hey!” Startled out of his self-loathing, Michael’s attention snapped up to see a visibly bristled fighter approaching-who else- Gabriel. The shout had corralled the attention of at least a quarter of the room, all watching the black clad man narrow in. _God dammit…_

He recognized Alexei from basic. Mouthy little brat with a knack for picking fights and a new task name: Cain. Someone in the ranks must’ve really had a taste for the Bible, as his navigator Abel was standing close by, trying rather helplessly to get his fighter to back off. Michael was in a sense rather envious of Cain. From what he could tell Abel was virtuous and seamlessly brilliant. He was a tremendous asset on the Bridge, always working with a kindness and diligence that navigators prided themselves on, and he was a firm but guiding hand when Cain was in need of a level head. And Michael was envious. Envious of the partnership, the dedication, and of the obvious relationship blossoming despite their flustered denial. It was everything he had wanted from his partnership since he was old enough to dream of this war.

Instead, his navigator stood defiantly in the midst of a crowd on the verge of an all-out brawl. In a moment of childishness, Michael sulked on the injustice of it all.

“’The fuck you say to me, Princess?”

“I didn’t say anything to you Reliant. Back off the tough guy act.” And didn’t that sound familiar. Michael rolled his shoulders, sore from sitting slumped over the metal table. _Whatever..._ He deserved whatever was coming to him.

“Hey fuck you Gabriel,” Phobos spat from across the table. By now the mess hall was almost completely silent, everyone watching the scene unfold quietly save for the few fighters who gave low whistles and encouragements.

“Kick his ass Reliant!”

Michael was content to just witness the act until he heard the telltale ‘flick’ of a switch blade. Then another. Both Cain and his mute devotee Deimos now wielded knives with the intent to kill or at least maim evident on their features.

From where he sat, Michael couldn’t hear what Abel was saying; evidently trying to pull his fighter away from the fight. But, when Cain shook the blonde off, Michael felt his heart stop.

If Gabriel was put in the medbay, it would be his head on the chopping block. His future would be ruined.

“You’re going to regret that, you little shit.”

Michael had never prided himself on being fast. Strong and powerful, yes. But, thick chords of muscle didn’t often move with the grace of a runner. That being said, the amount of time it took for him to put Cain on the ground impressed even himself. A swift tug at the back of their collars had both him and his affiliate skidding across the tile floors. Before he even had a chance to think, he had the front of Gabriel’s civilian jacket balled in his fist. His knuckles paled with the effort and he fought to keep his breath even. Fuck this kid.

He leveled his audience with a look that could slaughter, his rage induced gaze meeting Cain’s from where the man now crouched on the ground, hilt clenched tightly in his hand, poised to strike. Michael grit his teeth.

“Reliant whatever happened, I’m sure he deserves it, but I refuse to get demoted over your sorry asses! Especially you!” He turned his fury back to Gabriel, who was once again digging his vicious little nails into the skin on Michael’s wrist, with an ugly snarl on his face. Michael felt a strong urge to beat him senseless personally. He could hardly keep his composure as his dark eyes darted around the crowd. “So step off of it! All of you!”

“What the hell is going on?” Michael could almost feel his eyes roll back in exasperation. He couldn’t catch a break today.

“Who’s asking,” he bit back, releasing his grip on Gabriel’s jacket with a not-so-gentle shove and turning on his heel.  He felt his mouth go dry as in front of him stood the single most attractive soldier, Michael had ever seen. He was petite and thin with delicate features, snow white hair that fell over his shoulder in loose waves. His light green eyes set below thick lashes fell on Michael with a thoroughly unamused stare.

“Lieutenant Keeler. Navigation team lead.”

It took an embarrassingly lengthy amount of time for Michael’s brain to catch up with the scene before him. The young man before him did in fact adorn the uniform of his commanding officers. One that just caught him with his hands on his navigator. One that he had just blatantly disrespected. One that looked on him mercilessly.

One glance at his smirking navigator, told him that he was about to be in a world of trouble.

Fuck.


End file.
